1/18/2015

here is one thing i have always liked
about myself:
i can force a poem.

12:27am on a sunday morning,
i wonder what you are up to
thinking probably you have more

**** than me,
more luck than me
and you'd told me once

walking down the orange streetlight sidewalks
in mercer county developments
"you gotta be in a good place in

life to do drugs, and i'm always
happy, i gotta celebrate that."
your crooked white teeth

curling upwards and your
blue scary sharp eyes smiling
i just shoved my fingers in the

ripped jacket pocket harder
and gripped your hand with my
other.

"i guess i could never
do too many then."
i'm kidding, though

and i keep taking hits.
i haven't heard from you in weeks
last i saw was your

scaryskinny naked legs
next to mine on a scaryskinny bed.
but i do know you're not exactly

suffering out there
and i wonder what your secret is.
i'll never see you again after those

scaryfast two weeks
i know that and yet sometimes i wonder
how i learned to force my poems so easily.